


Limbo

by Rejo



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Brainwashing, Lies, M/M, Translation, chinese to english translation, hickmanvengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 12:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rejo/pseuds/Rejo
Summary: Tony lied, but Steve's dreams don't.





	Limbo

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [[盾铁] 灵薄狱](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473681) by [Rejo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rejo/pseuds/Rejo). 



> Thank you for letting me translate this, Rejo! <3 
> 
> *
> 
> This is Hickman's Avengers. Deals with _Avengers V5 #29_.

_...Do it, Stephen._

Steve wakes up, breathless, his temple throbbing so painfully that he’s dizzy, his vision swimming before him. Sweat soaks his pillow and the shirt sticking to the back of his neck burns as if it’s been set on fire. Tony’s not there beside him—is he in the workshop? No, Steve hears the soft sound of water running in the shower. It must still be early. Tony always wakes up early. 

Pressing a hand to his forehead and sitting up, Steve forcefully casts his mind back towards the dream. His cheekbone stings slightly, but it must be psychosomatic—Steve remembers someone punching him in the dream, rage in their fists. It was Namor (why?). That’s strange, he hasn’t had any disagreements with Namor lately. If someone had hit Steve like that, he couldn’t have possibly forgotten it. 

There was someone else. He can’t remember, who... Doctor Strange? Yes. The Sorcerer Supreme raised his hands, and—

_Do it, Stephen—_

A flash of red light—but who said that? 

Do _what_?

Steve closes his eyes. The same dream has been haunting him for days, its vividness deeply unsettling, as if trapping him in the scene. It’s not a memory, it can’t be, because Steve doesn’t forget. But every time he tries to recall its entirety, an immense pain jolts from the deep recesses of his mind, forcing him to stop. 

Why does he keep dreaming about it, then, if it’s not real?

Steve remembers a blur of gold and black, and a ghastly white from the light that shoots off in reflection. That particular color combination makes him think of one man in particular. Maybe because of this man, the others in his dreamscape come into focus: Black Bolt, Richards, Black Panther… the Illuminati. 

But Steve can’t be sure, maybe it’s not them. After all, this could just be his imagination, trying to grasp sense where there is none. 

“Steve?”

He turns his head to find his lover still half-naked, standing near the bed. Traces from their shared pleasure are faint in the dim light, all he can see is the bruising at Tony’s hip. 

“What is it? Bad dreams?” Tony asks, carding his fingers through his hair lightly. 

*

After everything that happens—everything that makes Steve’s heart ache every time it crosses his mind—they find themselves hopelessly attracted to each other. He and Tony keep quiet, keep the peace, but they both know that one day, everything is going to burn again, and it’s always going to be because of each other.

Steve doesn’t doubt that they’re in love. Their love is a constant, it has never faltered, not even when their fists are bloody and violence is the only way they know how to greet each other. The only thing that’s changed is that they don’t make any promises to each other anymore. They know now, they have proof, that their promises mean nothing. In the end, the promises will be broken. By one of them, by either of them.

Why is that always how things go? It probably all comes down to this: Tony is Tony. Steve is Steve. They both do what they think they should, but they aren’t willing to do the same things. It’s almost like fate—they fight, they reconcile, and throughout all the betrayals and broken trust, they continue to love each other. 

This is love. Steve believes it. At this point, it can’t be anything else. There is nothing else that is both dirty and pure, fragile and strong. Like the quenching of iron, love is tempered by betrayal to be fiercer, brighter, colder. Nothing is as all-consuming as love.

They lead teams, they negotiate tactics, they stand opposed, but when their suits and uniforms slip off, they kiss and hug and fuck. In their lives, disagreement and love run parallel, they don’t see why they shouldn’t have this. But honestly, what could be worse than what they have? It’s just, sometimes, they’re just like a normal couple, aren’t they—

Once, Steve thought about being gentle to his partner, but then he found out that Tony doesn’t need gentleness. Neither does Steve.

He suspects that Tony has never known anything but this. Even when it comes to sex, it’s all about discovery, the futurist fucks the same way he lives: recklessly, restlessly, reaching past his limits. And Steve, he’s always worried about being too possessive or controlling, about hurting the other, but Tony seems to relish the bruises and marks Steve leaves over his body.

In bed, Tony listens to every order, willing to surrender everything. If Steve didn’t know how much Tony loved Steve and shared pleasure in this, he might have thought this was Tony making up for something, wanting to please Steve for some reason. 

That’s a funny thought, isn’t it? Tony Stark doesn’t need to please anyone.

*

“What do you want? Tell me,” Tony says, voice quiet as he clings onto Steve, running his hands down his back. “I’ll give you anything.”

Steve is hit with the sudden urge to ask for something else, something that isn’t about sex, but right now it is lust that courses through his veins, an overwhelming heat. “Open your legs,” he says instead. 

It’s too soon, Steve rushes the preparation, but Tony doesn’t say anything at all, just welcomes Steve in with a gasp, shaking from the force of Steve’s thrusts, biting back his moans.

Steve holds Tony down, pushing into him roughly. He slips out to straddle Tony’s chest, gripping Tony’s chin so his lips part, stretching around Steve’s cock. The angle must be uncomfortable, it’s going to wreck Tony’s throat—but there isn’t even a shred of hesitation in his eyes, he’s determined to take Steve down his throat deeper. 

Fisting Tony’s dark hair, Steve bucks his hips, unable to restrain himself. Tony has him in his throat completely now, his neck twisting at a weird angle, and it’s obvious that he’s choking, suffocating on Steve’s cock. The most merciful thing Steve can do is come. 

He spills into Tony’s mouth with a low groan. Tony, with great effort, swallows, gulping down everything he can, holding onto Steve’s hips tightly, sucking Steve through his blinding climax. 

When his vision clears, Steve pats Tony’s face. Tony moves to open his jaw more to let Steve pull out, and then Tony drops his head back down onto the pillow with a heavy thump. But it’s not over, Steve just lets his cock slip to the side. He presses at the edge of Tony’s mouth, eyes caught on the messy saliva there. Tony blinks at him, then his tongue darts out to lick him again, like a challenge. A frisson of desire goes through Steve again, arousal flaring, burning through the fuse towards the next round. He shifts to lean down and kiss Tony, hands pressing his legs down.

When he comes again, Steve remembers what he wanted to say. He wanted to say, “Give me your honesty.”

Why would he need to ask for that? 

*

_I will not tolerate—I will not allow—any talk of the necessity of necessary evil… especially when we don’t have to._

_They’re just gone. I don’t know what happened—_

_“You’ve killed us all!” Everyone—_

_I won’t allow this to happen—_

_And then _he_ says, “Do it, Stephen.”_

*

“What is it? Bad dreams?”

When the man he loves asks that, it’s with nervousness tugging his lips down, almost imperceptibly.

“Something like that.” When he answers, he tilts his head away, avoiding the searching gaze in those beloved blue eyes. “It’s nothing.”

*

In the dawn of tomorrow, Steve sees hope shining over their team, but Tony only sees gloom and darkness. Tony sees the end of the world. 

And even if a million differences separate them, there is one thing that remains the same: they are both extremely stubborn men. They know they cannot persuade the other no matter how they try. They know that there is no surrendering of what they believe in. Steve knows this because they have always understood each other, at least in that. 

But the pain, the anger. It hurts, unimaginably so, it feels like Tony has dug out Steve’s heart with his bare hands. Even after everything—everything they’ve done to and for each other, the most abyssal of rifts and the painstakingly careful reconciliation afterwards—Tony still does this to him. He wants to interrogate Tony, wants to punch him bloody, wants to squeeze Tony’s neck and choke the truth out of him and ask him if he knows what exactly he’s _done._

...He doesn’t want to wonder if Tony has ever followed him out of even a trace of guilt. He thinks that would make himself a very pathetic man, indeed. 

*

Black Widow is there, along with Hawkeye, Star Brand, Hyperion. Thor stands in front of Steve with heavy silence. 

“I thought I said for you to come alone, Thor.” Steve clenches his fist, trying to not look at the door over there, the one shut in his face. 

“You were quite emotional, Captain. I took your request as more a suggestion than an order.” 

Emotional? How could Steve not be emotional when Tony—

“Do I look like I’m going to lose control of the situation?” 

“Yes. You do,” Thor says gravely. “The flames of Hel burn inside you. They have blinded you, my friend.” 

All catastrophic fires need kindling, need a spark to set everything off. Steve’s not sure if it’s him or Tony. Maybe it’s both. Maybe the fire had been set long before they met, in the devastated streets of Brooklyn during the Depression, in the endlessly large Stark Mansion that was always too empty. 

“Open the door,” is all he manages through gritted teeth. 

The fire has finally reached him, and it is all-consuming. 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> I have kept to the original work as much as I could without getting things lost in translation. Any and all mistakes/inaccuracies are mine.


End file.
